


The Second Most Dangerous Game

by yonderdarling



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Kink Meme, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fill, best enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8218606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: Missy has red lipstick, blue eyes, and a pair of leather gloves. This should not be a problem for the Doctor. It becomes a problem for the Doctor. Inspired by an LJ Prompt that asked for "The Mistress getting Twelve off just by talking to him."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was browsing the Best Enemies kinkmeme looking for a challenge when I saw this prompt from Anonymous - "Twelve doesn't like being touched - that sounds like a challenge. I want the Mistress getting Twelve off just by talking to him. Telling him how she would have loved to fuck him hard in previous incarnations, how she would have adored watching him with her cock deep down his throat."  
> Everything else is just window dressing.

The Doctor can hear singing.

Then he can't.

He comes to, wishes he was still unconscious. Missy sits across from him on the floor of the cell, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, right over left. The Doctor lifts his head, groans. One of his hands trails on the floor, the other is awkwardly positioned across his chest. His legs are tangled. Everything hurts.

"What?" he manages to say, before dropping his head back on the bunk. He groans. "What happened?" Realisation floods him, he sits up, panicked. "Where's Bill?"

Missy curls her lip. "You left her on Earth. Too dangerous to bring humans here, not when the atmosphere can change from nitrogen to nitrate like that - " she snaps her fingers. "The tension though, when the change comes through - little bit sexy, don't you think? That strange taste that gets in the air."

The Doctor's neck is killing him. He groans as he moves his head from one side to the other, trying to stretch it out. His shoulders ache too, and he rolls them backwards. It's down in his bones. His legs are sore, overstretched, but they're not nearly as bad.

"Rogue Chumbly," says Missy, trying to keep a straight face. "Got you in the back of the knees and you went arse over tea kettle. Mistake one, on your account. Down like a recently divorced mother of two at her ex's wedding."

When keeping a straight expression fails, Missy does that thing, where she purses her lips and raises her eyebrows, and the Doctor swallows dryly. Rolls his shoulders, grunting with the pain.

"Did they drag me here over rocks?" he asks finally.

Missy stands, stretches while standing on one leg, going up on the left toe of her little black boot. He catches a swirl of her white petticoat. "Logs, actually, then rocks. It's a very remote outpost. Solid stone walls though, look - " she kicks back on the wall, winces, hops awkwardly on her left leg. "I've no clue how they did it, I think we're in some kind of cave system. I came along as a prisoner because technically, you're my ride."

"Technically."

Missy holds up her left arm for his perusal. Her vortex manipulator is shredded almost beyond recognition. There's scorch marks up and down her sleeve.

"It's a fixer-upper, I reckon," Missy says, crossing the room so he can have a closer look. She's limping a little, trying to hide it. The Doctor pokes at the metal burrs and wires still attached to the leather strap, careful not to touch her bare skin. "You know, change the batteries - "

"You'll need a load-balancing copper ball bearer."

"You think I don't know that? And some xenon shavings." Missy slumps on the bed next to him, sighs. "Which is all super-easy, of course. It's just a pain to fix. Never get attached to technology. Hm. Why am I telling you that? You're joined at the hip to your TARDIS."

"Where's _your_ TARDIS? You should use your TARDIS."

Perhaps he went in too hard on that. He did. Missy smirks, and he swallows again. She leans against him, rests her head on his shoulder, the top of her stupid updo brushing his neck. His skin prickles.

"You know I'll never let you know that," Missy says. "You'll take it off me, naughty, naughty."

The Doctor shifts, dislodging her. It sends more shooting pains down his shoulders and back, and he swears under his breath. Missy grumbles, stands in front of him, clearly putting her weight on her left leg.

"Let me," she says, and grabs his shoulders without permission, pinches at the muscles that are knotted and aching.

Even through two layers - no, three, he's got his hoodie on today too - he feels the sharp ends of her nails, the strength in her fingers. It just makes it worse, and he tenses under her grip.

"Doctor, for once in your innumerable lives, chillax," Missy snaps. "I just don't want you bitching when we make our amazing and daring escape. That is, when the guards change shift." Missy presses her thumb next to his C7 vertebrae, and something unknots in his back so hard it practically pops. "Better?"

Yes. He groans, lets his head drop so it's nearly brushing her hip. If Bill - if any of his friends were here, he'd never let Missy get away with this. Missy presses her thumbs at the juncture of his neck and right shoulder, just on the edge of his t-shirt. It hurts, until something shifts in the muscle, and his blood seems to run warm beneath her fingers.

"Don't stop," says the Doctor.

She does, stepping back, hands on hips. "I'm your friend too," Missy says, reproachful.

"Yes, you are," says the Doctor, because who knows how long they're going to be here, and that's a philosophical debate for another time.

Missy makes a little tutting noise, presses the heels of her hands into his shoulders. Rubs them in small circles. It's oddly soothing. Comforting.

"This would be easier if you sat on the floor," she says. "With your back to me."

The Doctor lowers his head again. "I'm not turning my back on you," he says, and hisses again.

"There's a metaphor in there somewhere," Missy says, kneading away like a pleased cat in a sunbeam.

He lets his eyes close. Flinches when Missy puts her fingertips on his neck, like sunspots against his skin.

"Ah, of course," she says, annoyed, taking a theatrical step back. "Touchy McToucherson."

He glares. "It's not just you, it's everyone. I'm not touchy this time around. And partially, it is you. It's my neck, Missy, we're Time Lords. You know how all that works personally."

"Hm. So, no touching. Unless you've got a buggered shoulder."

"You _know_ what I mean." Then, because he wants to win some points back. "You know me better than most people."

"I'm not people."

Missy sighs, backs up, limping. Sits in her earlier spot on the floor, curling up with her elbows on her knees, facing him. He can see halfway up her shins, the buttons and loops on her boots disappearing under the mud-splattered hem of her petticoat, which is covered over by her heavier skirt.

"As much as I love sitting here in silence," the Doctor begins, then runs out of steam. Chooses to study Missy's pose instead, slowly working out the kinks in his shoulders. He should draw her, one day.

Eventually Missy looks up at him, still frowning. "Penny for them," she says.

"How are we going to get out?" The Doctor looks around the cell. There's just one small door, barely big enough for Missy to crawl through, let alone him. It's probably better that he was unconscious for entry. The door's made of thick, black metal, reinforced with heavy bolts. "You have a plan, I assume."

Missy pulls a pin out of her hair. Holds it up. "This one's got acid in it, when you remove the tips. Wait, no. My mistake."

"Mistake two."

Missy pulls another pin out, from the same spot. A lock of hair falls across her face, and she brushes it out of the way. "This one's acidic. This one's incendiary. We'll just use the acid to get the door open, should be able to sneak away."

The Doctor raises his eyebrows, impressed.

"It's not just a look," says Missy, gesturing at herself. "It's all got utility."

It's his turn to smirk, raise his eyebrows. "It's a bit about the look."

"Yeah, it is."

The Doctor points at her brooch. "I know that's dwarf star alloy. Are your buttons incendiary, or something?"

"No, they're just buttons. That's utility," says Missy. "And I set my jacket on fire once, when I tried that. Great minds."

"Not sure if that's a great minds example," the Doctor says, and they both laugh. The pain in his shoulders is lessening, and he stands, stretches. "Better," he says, in answer to Missy's look. He sits again, rests his hands on his thighs. "You can sit on this, if you want. The bed. I mean the bed, not me."

Missy snorts. "I'm fine here. Looks more like an outcrop than an actual bunk, if I'm honest."

"So. What exactly was the utility of the Shakespearian collar, way back when," the Doctor says.

"Dangerous ground to tread, celery-cricket-outfit-boy," says Missy.

"The celery was there so I could - "

"Praxis-spectrum gases, I remember, you're allergic," Missy stretches, her legs going out straight. She grits her teeth. "That time we had that excursion to the sun of the Zurchansan System and you got hives. Regardless. I liked the collar. Protected my neck, smarty-pants. I'm surprised you're not wearing a turtleneck this time round, if you're so sensitive."

The Doctor rubs his neck, tilts it. Something cracks, and he feels a little better.

"The gloves were an aesthetic choice first, but I seemed to end up on such cold planets, most of the time. Utility," Missy holds her hands out in front of her face, palms towards him. "I should resurrect the gloves."

The Doctor swallows again. His throat clicks, suddenly dry. Missy grins impishly, tucks that loose lock of hair behind her ear.

"You did like the gloves," she says, casually. "Fond memories of you and the gloves."

Perhaps if he doesn't say anything, Missy will drop it. She rubs her fingers together, peers at him carefully.

"Are you bored? I'm bored."

"I'm waiting for the guards to change shift," he says. "Which was your idea."

"You got a better one, my Lord Doctor?" Missy asks.

"…no."

Missy crosses her legs at the ankle again. Her heels have that Edwardian curve. Her attention to detail has gotten better - or at least, it is on her immediate person.

"You liked the gloves," says Missy, fiddling with one of her rings. "I liked the gloves. I wish I had them right now, it's chilly in here."

"You can have my jacket," says the Doctor, unthinking. He's still not used to having a Time Lady around. "I mean - "

Missy gives him a look. "No, thanks, I'm not an animal." She pulls up her sleeve, presses a stud on one of her bracelets. "It's coil-heated," she says, tugging at the lapels of her coat.

The Doctor zips up his hoodie, folds his arms across his chest defensively. 

"Mine's got a zip."

" _Snazzy_."

"Don't give me attitude, Missy, I don't want to be here either."

They sit in silence for a moment. Missy pops her lips.

"Those gloves - " she begins, and the Doctor holds up a hand.

"I know what you're going to try and do, and can you please hold off until we're not imprisoned by the lamest aliens since the Froodles cross-bred with the Nyumanums."

Missy snorts. Crosses her arms too, drops her head to her chest. "Wake me in ten. Shift change is in twelve minutes."

"How long was I out?" the Doctor asks.

"Long enough for three shift changes," says Missy, sniffing. She lowers her head again. Scratches her mouth.

"Did you hurt your ankle?"

"Mhm."

"How?"

"You weren't the only one dragged in here," Missy says, her head still lowered. Her hair falls across her face again, and the Doctor wants to tuck it back. Leaves it. Without moving, she mumbles, "Eight minutes."

"Got you."

 

They escape.

 

*** * ***

 

 

He's chained up the next time he sees Missy. She was summoned to this planet too, some kind of hunting trip organised by the disgustingly rich who find normal forms of entertainment now dull, and have resorted to hunting sentient, intelligent beings. The Doctor is taken to a cell to be the latest quarry for a group of gangsters from Vonvicinini, an appallingly wealthy planet with a solid gold core where - as Missy reminds him, the skies are made, in part, of diamonds. Very small diamonds, buffeted about by the winds of the atmosphere. Diamonds all the same.

Missy is chained to the ceiling by her wrists, arms straight up in the air. They put the Doctor in a similar setup next to her, lock and seal the door. Leave them alone.

For once, the Doctor is glad to see the Mistress, thinking of her technology-loaded clothing and hairpieces. Her lack of patience, forgiveness, mercy.

Missy doesn't mind hunting, he knows that. Usually.

"It's just so _pedestrian_ ," she says, hanging from the roof of the cell by her wrists, the chain clinking. "You know, and it's such a human concept. _Ooh_ , hunting other intelligent - for a given value of intelligent - life forms. I'm so hardcore. I'm _scary_ and _wealthy_ to the point of obscenity." She blows a raspberry. "Grow up. Buy a planet and rule it to your own ridiculous whims, or something. Recreating the Most Dangerous Game, it's just cheap."

Ignoring her, the Doctor tries to get his feet flat on the ground, finally finds purchase. Waits for her to finish.

"I wrote the book on _The Most Dangerous Game_. Ricky Connell, I actually gave him a hand with that story."

"I'm sure you did," the Doctor mutters.

"And there's the Most Dangerous Game theme park, you know. On Sharerein X. They use condemned prisoners for quarry so it's all morally okay. Ish." Missy makes a humming noise. "Good times and there's a great buffet. Where's the one with all the teeth?" she asks.

"Bill stayed on the TARDIS. Slept in," says the Doctor. "And now she's staying there. I got that message across before they smashed my phone, at least. She can't help us."

"And where is the TARDIS?"

"You know that lake at the bottom of the mountain they told us about?"

Missy swears as her foot slips, and she dangles for a moment. Manages to find a small tiptoe-hold on the roughly-hewn stone floor.

"Yes," she says, unamused.

"It's on top of that mountain." The Doctor glances up, sees his wrists are already getting marked by the handcuffs. "Where is your TARDIS?"

Missy shakes her head and sticks her tongue out at him. "No dice."

"Can't they just let us go now?"

"We'd get too much of the day to move easily," Missy says. "It'll be dusk in about three hours. Then they'll let us go, then we get three hours, then the hunt begins. Do the Vonvicininia know what happens when we die? At least it'll be a nasty surprise for them if we don't get away."

"Or a fantastic gift. But no, I don't think they know what they've got, if I'm honest," says the Doctor absently, studying her hands, twisted above her head. "You resurrected those just in time, it seems."

"It seems I did," Missy says.

She's wearing a pair of fitted leather gloves. Black, to match her boots. Who knows how far they go up her arms. He doesn't let himself imagine. Missy curls and uncurls her fingers as he watches. He imagines.

"You always pick being short," says the Doctor absently.

"You always pick being shut up," Missy mutters. Grips the chain, tries to lift herself up to her own hands, so she can grab a pin out of her hair. She sighs. "Useless."

"You have a plan?"

"Do _you_ have a plan?"

The Doctor yanks on his own chain. "Can your boot buttons do anything? That's all I can really reach of you."

"Yes."

"Yes? What do your boot buttons do?"

"They keep my shoes on. Where's your screwdriver?"

"In my black coat."

"And that's another problem," says Missy, gesturing at him as best she can, ends up sort of hopping and kicking at him. "You're wearing bright red velvet. It's a jungle out there. You're going to have to cover yourself in mud."

"Says the woman wearing purple and high heels."

"It's a purple jungle. Haven't you figured out where we are?"

"Jepada?" says the Doctor.

"Pajadae," Missy snaps. "Next door. Literally, purple-haired forest, in the local jargon."

For lack of better options, the Doctor starts yanking at his chain.

"If you go at right angles to where you're standing now, it looks like one of the screw threads has already snapped," Missy says thoughtfully, standing on tiptoe and frowning up at the ceiling.

He pulls.

"Bit more to the right. The _right_."

"What, my right or your right?"

" _My_ right, of course."

 

They escape.

 

*** * ***

 

The Doctor drops Bill back at university, goes inside the console room. Missy leans against the railing, rubbing one of her wrists absently.

"You haven't told Bill what I am," she says, pulling the glove off, finger by finger. "She thinks I'm just a friend of yours."

The Doctor stands next to her, casual, carefully over an arm's length away, leans against the railing.

"You are a friend of mine," the Doctor says, watching her take her gloves off. She tucks them into her pocket. "One of my oldest friends."

"Friends," says Missy, and saunters out of the room, leaving the Doctor with damp palms.

He makes himself stop staring at her arse, turns to the console and flips it to random, filters out any and all warzones, anywhere with an unstable government. No need to lead Missy into temptation. He needs a shower. He needs a shower, and a nap, and wonders if the TARDIS still has that room with the bed in the shower, so he can snooze and bathe and get all that out of the way before he misses dinner on Cannerand.

Missy's in his room, cross legged on his bed.

"Oh," the Doctor says, and laughs. "We're not doing this now."

Missy falls back on one elbow, studies him, eyebrows raised. She's wearing the gloves. He feels himself faltering. Points, his wrist sort of limp.

"Out," he says, and Missy tuts, rolls off the bed and stands. He sits down heavily on the mattress, kicks his boots off. "Out, Missy."

"Do you still have that room with all the waterproof furniture and the shower function?" Missy asks.

"I wish I knew. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

The Doctor flops over, closes his eyes pointedly. Hears footsteps, the door closing. Something light and leathery hits him in the face. He splutters, bats it away, gets back up.

Missy leans against the closed door. She has one glove on. As he watches, she crosses her legs at the ankle.

"I love those gloves," she says smoothly, and the Doctor wishes she would stop talking. He sits up, stares her down. Mistake one. She's all smirking red lips and quirked eyebrows and blue, blue eyes. "They take me back, you know."

He flings the glove she threw back at her. Mistake two. She catches it deftly, slips it on. The Doctor swallows.

"I really don't like being touched this time, Missy," he says.

Missy saunters across the room, sits in the chair opposite the bed. "Lie back, my dear Doctor."

He's not going to get out of this. The Doctor sighs, sits back against the headboard.

"This isn't going to work," he says. Finds himself rubbing the marks from the handcuffs on his wrists. "No matter what you do - "

"Remember that time on Hanchler where we all ended up running from those rabid Torionos?" Missy says, propping her boots up on the bed between his legs, crossing her legs at the ankle. "We ended up waiting the night out in that cabin, and it was so cold, we just had to find some way to keep warm."

He remembers everything. Stares at the little curved heels of her shoes, the way the buttons go up and up and up her legs, under her skirt.

"Actually, there was no firewood and neither of us was game to go into the forest and get some."

"We ended up in bed, talking for hours," says Missy. "And then that got boring, or we starting fighting, so then we started kissing - "

The Doctor rolls his eyes.

"The kissing, and the touching," Missy circles her hands as she talks. "The heavy petting, whatever the kids these days call it. And," she sighs prettily, girlishly. "We made love as the candles burnt low. Or, rather, I fucked you into the mattress until you came apart in my hands."

The Doctor makes a low noise as Missy sighs. She rubs her gloved hands along her skirt.

"I miss being able to do that," said Missy, tipping her head from side to side. "I liked having you kneeling before me, under me." She bites the thumb of her right glove, pulls it off with her mouth. She holds it in her left hand, traces the fingers along her cheek. Leans forward slightly. "I liked seeing your mouth around my cock."

It's been too long, since River, though it wouldn't matter if River had been five minutes ago. This is Missy playing him like a piano. He's half-hard already. The Doctor lets his head drop. Hopes Missy won't notice.

She chuckles - she's still got that low chuckle, down in her chest, she's had that since her first body and will probably keep it till the end of her days, and that doesn't help. Missy sprawls in her chair slightly, pressing her legs together.

"I mean, do you remember? I'd spread you out and open you up and take hours - you'd beg, and mewl, and then remember your companions were just a few halls away and try and make yourself keep quiet." Missy keeps tracing the line of her cheekbones with her glove. "And of course, I'd take that as a challenge. But you just liked it more. Oh, Doctor, you're making this _far_ too easy. You be a good boy now, and keep quiet and still."

Missy chuckles again, and he's Pavlov's dog, he really is. He keeps quiet and still.

"Hold onto the headboard. However's comfortable for you," she adds. "I don't want you to feel awkward."

The Doctor resists, for ten seconds, all the while Missy leans forward and smiles at him, attentive rather than affectionate. This is the difference, here, between her and River and Rose and Reinette and Rory and Amy (he needs to look up whether names beginning with R are a fetish). Between the Mistress and the rest. Everyone has teeth. The Master uses them.

Metaphorically speaking. The Mistress loves him and tells him that - in the next breath, she could break him like a twig and not feel a twinge of guilt.

The Doctor puts his hands on the headboard, stretching his arms out lengthways.

"I miss it, of course," she says slowly, dark. "Having a cock. At the end of the day, they're sort of just easier, aren't they?"

He laughs at that, his shoulders moving up and down.

"I miss being able to fuck you," and she does sound rueful. "I mean, there's the fake ones and they make good fakes, that plug into synapses and nerve centres but it's just not the same. I remember, I remember, you, skinny man, all pinstripes and far too much hairgel. When I had you in that quarry. You just rolled over and let me take you, like you were looking for forgiveness. And I took you, remember? It was close enough to gentle for you to think - perhaps there was a chance for you, for me. For us. You kissed me and held me, and took my cock in your mouth, even though I was so dirty. But your mouth back then, my God, you talked so much. I loved seeing your fast lips and quick tongue on my cock. Made you shut up while you sucked at me, and you _loved_ it."

The Doctor remembers. He's properly hard now, and his mouth is dry.

"I wanted to make you choke on it," she says. Breathes out, switches the way her legs are crossed, left-on-right to right-on-left. "If I had the strength, the concentration." Missy looks at the ceiling. "I regret not taking my chance, but we _always_ get another chance. And then you left me to die. Abandoned me." Her voice goes hard. "So much for forgiveness, Doctor, Doctor, my Doctor."

"I didn't mean to leave you," he says, voice rasping. "I was dying too."

Missy takes a long, steady, cool look at him. "I spied on you," she says, her voice suddenly warm again, that full girlish lilt she had way back when in the centre of London. "I watched you, Doctor, all floppy hair and that stupid, stupid bow tie. I wanted to strangle you with it." She grins. "I see you like that. Tell me you like it."

The Doctor swallows. "I do like it."

"I'm sorry? What do you like?"

"I do like it, Mistress. When you strangle me with my bow tie." He goes for points. "With my stupid bow tie."

He's rewarded with a smile. Missy bites her thumb again, lips red around the black leather. The Doctor shifts, his cock pressing against his zipper, trying to alleviate the pressure. His hands twist on the wood of the headboard. The bulge in his pants is getting humiliating.

"No touching," says Missy. "I imagined - one night, when these little fingers went a-wandering," she waves her hand at him, the one in the leather glove, and the Doctor shifts again, though he's just seeking a sensation now. "I imagined. Grabbing you off the street. Shoving you up against a wall in my TARDIS and pulling those damn braces down, I mean, what were you thinking?"

He laughs. Moves his hips, his cock rubbing against his zipper through his pants. It'll be raw if he keeps this up, but it's something, something. He's making tiny noises as he does it, can't help himself.

"I want your hands - " the Doctor hears himself saying, and Missy uses her gloved fingers, bats at one of his feet playfully. "Missy - "

She pokes her tongue out at him, bites it gently, pink against her red lips and white teeth.

"I'll bite you," the Doctor says.

"Don't move your hands," says Missy, and he doesn't. "Now, where was I? Stupid bow tie, stupid braces. I wanted to pull those off you, take those pants off - your pants are always so tight, Doctor, it's like you want me to do this to you. Yank those pants down around your knees and take you right there on my console until you were screaming my name, crying - he looked like a crier, that one. I must ask River - uh-uh, shh, shhh - " she says, waggling her finger at him when he tries to protest. "Not now, not now. I wanted to fuck you, see if you still acted like a manchild with me buried inside you, my fist wrapped around your dick. Perhaps I'd wear the gloves for you. A reunion, for old time's sake."

She pauses, watches him, hands on knees. "Or you know. The traditional. Make you kneel. Make you suck me off, those pink lips around my cock, those eyes looking up at me. Asking for more, or for mercy, Master, I can never tell." Missy pops her lips. "Sometimes, it's the same thing with you."

He lets out a breath. Keeps moving his hips in tiny circles, his pants and trousers rubbing on his cock. He's gasping a tiny bit, his shoulders aching from the position.

"I'll tie you there, don't even think about it," snaps Missy.

"Please, Mistress - "

"Oh, bringing out the big guns, are we? How about I be your Master today," she says, and the Doctor groans, drops his head so his skull clunks against the headboard. Tries to block her out, focuses on the ceiling. "That's my good boy. I'd use your hair, back then, you had such an odd fringe. Good handhold. I wouldn't let you move, I'd just use your mouth, and you'd love it. Me, your Master, the one you thought dead and burnt and buried, fucking your face. Coming down the back of your throat - "

" _Fuck_ ," says the Doctor, shuddering.

Missy grins. "I like that. It's the Scottish in you, I think."

"Bet you want some of _this_ Scottish in you," the Doctor manages to counter, and Missy laughs again. It's more of a giggle, and he thinks he's gained the upper hand until -

"Not as much as you want this Scottish in you." She copies his accent, and he feels his dick twitching.

Missy takes a moment, rubs his lower leg through his pants, the leather darker than his black jeans. Still. The Doctor sucks in a breath.

"I watched you - getting snogged by that redhead, by your _wife_ \- " she makes wife sound like a swearword, and not a good, fun one - "by the husband of the redhead, thought I'd be able to do a much better - "

"How would you fuck me now?" the Doctor asks, feels himself sweating. "If you had a cock?"

"Oh, like this," she says, casual, like she hasn't wiled away hours thinking about it. "Spread out and ready to beg - "

"I am not ready to _beg_ \- "

"In this instance, you'd have handcuffs. It'd be a whole thing." Missy waves her gloved hand dismissively. "Perhaps I'd slap you around with this a bit, you always liked that, oh yes - "

His treacherous cock twitches again. It's embarrassing, how obvious it is, tenting the front of his trousers, his open legs like an arrow pointing towards it. The Doctor tightens his grip on the headboard until his knuckles creak.

"I'd slap you around. I like it too. The face, your cock, your arse. Shove you down on the bed, and you'd be saying, no, Missy, no - "

"Master - "

Missy grins.

"You like that, Doctor? All the while spreading your legs for me, just as you are now, wanton little - "

The Doctor's moving his hips again, tiny circles. Occasionally his zipper catches on his cock and it makes him wince. Doesn't make him stop.

"And, Doctor, I would go slow," says Missy. "Use this hand, of course, one finger, teasing you, for hours. You act all-so-above-it-all, above those base needs, but I'd have you begging. If it took ten minutes. An hour. Two. Ten - "

The Doctor feels precome dripping down his shaft, gasps.

" _Then_ a second finger," says Missy plainly, tipping her head as if she's recounting the plot of some base sitcom that aired last night. "Keep working you open, making your legs twitch and your thighs shake. See if I could make you come like that, just on my hand. But that's kind of boring. A third finger."

His hips jerk upwards. Of course she notices.

"You'd be doing that, asking," says Missy, pointing. "I'd be three fingers in and you'd be twisting on my hand, begging for more, loving how the leather felt inside you. You miss your Master, don't you, the Doctor misses his Master - "

His hips jerk again, almost a spasm. "Fuck - " the Doctor chokes out.

"Perhaps you'd come like that," says Missy, still using her sitcom-recounting voice. "Three fingers, a bit of leather. Maybe my other hand around your cock, nice and tight, you bucking up, asking for my - no, no. Begging for my cock. Would I give it to you? Would I? I could just milk you dry like that, listen to you crying for me - "

"Missy, Master, please," the Doctor says.

Missy lets out a long breath and he realises - he's an idiot. She's just as turned on as he is. Missy uncrosses and recrosses her legs once again, smirks. The Doctor's arms shake from the effort of holding the headboard.

"Perhaps not as much as you," she says, gives his foot a mocking squeeze. She nods. "I'd give it to you. Spread your legs wider, slide in. You'd be all stretched out but you'd still groan, because you know how I like it too. Bury myself in you. Doctor?"

" _Master_."

"And I'd wait for a moment, because I miss that. The sensation." Missy clenches her fist. The leather glove creaks as she does, and the Doctor moans, hundreds of moments from hundreds of years playing on a loop in his head. "That tight heat. Feeling your pulse from the inside out. That little look you always get, your pupils all blown, your mouth just a little bit open - just like that - "

Her pupils are blown too, only a rim of that vivid, vivid blue around the black.

"Remember, Doctor, remember," the Mistress murmurs, and the Doctor remembers and whimpers. "Just a little bit open, and you bite your lip because you don't want to cry out, but I love it when you're noisy and loud and wonderful. We both like to pause there, don't we? When I'm inside you? That moment where we're both - "

"Intimate - " the Doctor says, and hopes that's the word she's after.

Missy shifts her head from side to side. Twists her glove between her fingers. "I'd get a grip on you - your neck, your hip, the headboard, depends on how I'm feeling, and then I'd slowly pull myself out, and I don't want to - " he's gasping, his balls tight - "I miss that heat, that stutter of your pulse, and that's when I'd grab your neck and feel it in your throat."

"Master, Missy, please - "

Missy looks him right in the eye, keeps speaking, her breathing slightly elevated. "And then I'd push you into the mattress, shove into you. You'd cry out and that just makes me go faster, harder, and you love it when your Master is rough with you, don't you? Tell me, Doctor."

The Doctor finds what's left of his strength. "I do, Master." He shuts his eyes, cock aching and leaking in his pants. He twists his hands on the headboard, his arms trembling.

"Perhaps if I'm feeling merciful, I'll pull you into my lap. You, speared on my cock, gasping, trying to look me in the eye. Oh god, you'd be so hot and tight and want me more than anything in the _universe_ ," says Missy. "You're not coming before I do," she adds. "Look at me, Doctor."

His hips jerk upwards, and he hears Missy purr.

"You're not going to look, are you. I want to see you come undone, all your hair sticking up and your fingers twisting and the way you gasp, now, it's wonderful. Wonderful." She hums again, and it's low and harmonises with the way his body is thrumming, throbbing. "If I was fucking you, right now - "

The Doctor gasps. His arms are numb. His legs twitch, helpless. He can feel precome dripping, down the head of his cock, along his shaft. Missy can smell him by now, and probably loves it.

"I'd get you into my lap. I always liked that, you sitting on my cock, riding me as I thrust up into you, the way you grip my shoulders. You kiss me when we're like that, so desperate, all whimpery - " Missy breathes out, slowly. Fans herself. "Staring into my eyes, your weight in my lap, your cock between us. Desperate for me, begging." Another slow breath. "Look at me, Doctor," she intones.

He drops his head.

" _Look at me_ ," she says, her voice like a siren's song. "My dear Doctor - "

"Missy," the Doctor says, forcing his head up, meeting her gaze. "Missy, Missy please - "

She nods. "You can come, Doctor."

There's a moment where they stare at each other, Missy, upright on the chair, the glove twisted between her fingers. The Doctor, sprawled across the mattress, arms at odd angles, breath coming in short gasps.

"Come for me," Missy orders.

"Fuck - "

The Doctor's arms slip from the headboard. He bucks helplessly and comes in his pants with a shout, untouched. Feels his come dripping down his cock, his balls, hot and slick. He groans, long and low, stars on the edge of his vision. Hears Missy saying something - blacks out for a moment.

The Doctor wakes up in the room alone, flat on his back on the mattress, his mouth dry. Lies there, his legs splayed and stares up at the blank white ceiling for a moment. He catches his breath. Tamps down on the usual regret that comes after these encounters.

Then, the Doctor struggles up on his aching arms, which shake the moment he puts weight on them. He shifts awkwardly, grimacing at the damp mess he's made of his trousers. Slumps up against the pillows. It's not just his arms. His legs are shaking, his palms are damp. He licks his dry lips.

The door opens and Missy re-enters, holding a damp cloth. The mattress dips as she sits on it, reaches over and carefully unbuckles his belt, undoes his trousers.

"Up," Missy says, and he lifts his hips. Missy tugs his trousers and pants down. It's cold. "Okay?" she asks, and the Doctor nods.

She cleans him up carefully, clicking her tongue as she does. The cloth is warm, her hands gentle. He still shivers at her touch. "All too easy. That was relatively vanilla for us, wasn't it?"

He finds the energy to nod, feels his eyelids growing heavy. Lets them close for a moment.

"Look at me," Missy says again, and he pulls himself up against the pillows and headboard, stares at her.

She's all prim and proper, buttoned up to her throat, not a hair out of place. As he watches her, Missy removes her remaining glove without ceremony and puts the pair on his bedside table. The Doctor suddenly feels very exposed, tries to casually pull his pants back up, fingers fumbling. Hides a grimace. Missy does the kind thing and pretends not to notice. She couldn't get him properly clean, but it's much better than it was before.

"I've seen you worse," says Missy, standing, stretching. "That one will keep me company on cold winter nights. Metaphorically speaking." She sits again, pats his face, on the border of affectionate and mocking. "Good boy. Say thank you." Keeps her hand on his cheek, her thumb at the corner of his eye.

"Thank you, Mistress," he says, and she lets him go.

The Doctor takes in a shuddering breath. Raps his knuckles against the headboard, runs his hands through his hair, arms still shaking. Presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathes out again. Lies down properly.

"You want a drink of water?" Missy asks, voice suddenly gentle.

The Doctor nods and feels the mattress shift under him as Missy gets up and leaves the room. She comes back a moment later, lifts his head up, rests a glass on his lower lip.

"I'm shagged out, I'm not an invalid," he says, peeved, and Missy snorts, stroking his cheek. "Thanks."

He sits up and she hands him the glass. Their fingers brush. The Doctor drinks carefully, little sips. Missy takes the opportunity to shrug out of her jacket, unbutton her boots. The Doctor puts the empty glass down on the bedside table next to her gloves. The mattress dips again and he looks up as Missy crawls over next to him, smiles and lies down, propped up on the pillows. He settles so he's curled up beside her, his forehead resting against her ribs, below her breast. Missy loops an arm around him, strokes her fingers through his hair.

"Good boy," she says, and he nods. Missy brushes her lips against his temple. He knows that makes her lie awkwardly, puts her back at an odd angle. "Okay?"

He nods again. Missy shifts, so they're chest to chest and toe to toe, and she presses their foreheads together. She slowly moves her hand down from his hair, massages the back of his neck. Her fingers are warm, soft, sending ripples of pleasure to ancient synapses through his skin.

"I'll fix your shoulders when we wake up." She keeps moving her fingers, and it feels like dull, red sunlight behind his eyes. Comforting. "A proper massage or something, and you can take care of me. If you want to."

The Doctor nods again. "That room with the waterproof furniture."

"Oh, we could have fun in that room."

"I got you. Re-engineer the spray so it comes from the walls too?"

"Doctor, my dear, you're reading my mind."

He chuckles. Missy kisses his forehead softly.

 

They sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kiara, Ilana and Sos for their eyes, and non-judgement, and their judgement. Feedback is always appreciated!


	2. DVD Commentary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annotations, or a DVD commentary of sorts on this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sos asked for it, and I wanted to write it. So here it is.

The Doctor can hear singing. **I just realized it’s never actually stated outright that it’s Missy singing, but I feel like context really covered that one.**

Then he can't.

**So the immortal question of how to start off a fic with a relatively specific prompt. Originally, this was gonna be hella shorter, and the dirty talk was going to happen in the cell, and then it was gonna happen right after they got out of the cell and back to his TARDIS. And then it didn't.**

He comes to, wishes he was still unconscious. Missy sits across from him on the floor of the cell, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, right over left. The Doctor lifts his head, groans. One of his hands trails on the floor, the other is awkwardly positioned across his chest. His legs are tangled. Everything hurts.

"What?" he manages to say, before dropping his head back on the bunk. He groans. "What happened?" Realisation floods him, he sits up, panicked. "Where's Bill?"

**I put Bill in because I wanted the fic to feel - more current, and I'm always iffy about using random OC companions in the background. And, as I knew we wouldn't see Bill here, I felt alright about namedropping as opposed to trying to make up my own character for her, as opposed to trying my own hand at her characterisation, which would also date this fic.**

Missy curls her lip. "You left her on Earth. Too dangerous to bring humans here, not when the atmosphere can change from nitrogen to nitrate like that - " she snaps her fingers. "The tension though, when the change comes through - little bit sexy, don't you think? That strange taste that gets in the air."

The Doctor's neck is killing him. **Is it canon or fanon that Time Lord/Gallifreyan (interchangeable here) necks are like really sensitive? I think it's fanon, and I love it.** He groans as he moves his head from one side to the other, trying to stretch it out. His shoulders ache too, and he rolls them backwards. It's down in his bones. His legs are sore, overstretched, but they're not nearly as bad.

"Rogue Chumbly," says Missy, trying to keep a straight face. "Got you in the back of the knees and you went arse over tea kettle. Mistake one, on your account. Down like a recently divorced mother of two at her ex's wedding." **Chumblies are one of Pcap's favourite villains, which is why I put them here.**

When keeping a straight expression fails, Missy does that thing, where she purses her lips and raises her eyebrows, **you know the exact one** and the Doctor swallows dryly. Rolls his shoulders, grunting with the pain.

"Did they drag me here over rocks?" he asks finally.

Missy stands, stretches while standing on one leg, going up on the left toe of her little black boot. He catches a swirl of her white petticoat. **The Doctor is here and forever a details man. I like that he's not focusing on her legs in a sexual manner per sé, but he is fixating on little elements of Missy, like her shoes and petticoat.** "Logs, actually, then rocks. It's a very remote outpost. Solid stone walls though, look - " she kicks back on the wall, winces, hops awkwardly on her left leg. "I've no clue how they did it, I think we're in some kind of cave system. I came along as a prisoner because technically, you're my ride." **And she's gonna ride him later -- anyway.**

"Technically."

Missy holds up her left arm for his perusal. Her vortex manipulator is shredded almost beyond recognition. There's scorch marks up and down her sleeve.

"It's a fixer-upper, I reckon," Missy says, crossing the room so he can have a closer look. She's limping a little, trying to hide it. The Doctor pokes at the metal burrs and wires still attached to the leather strap, careful not to touch her bare skin. **Originally the Doctor was going to be WAY more touch-averse in this fic, which is a story for another time, that I will write one day. Pcap just sketches it out so well, down to his posture and the super long sleeves. I love him and I don't want him to go.** "You know, change the batteries - "

"You'll need a load-balancing copper ball bearer."

"You think I don't know that? And some xenon shavings." **[me, typing frantically] mechanical words. mechanical words. science words. shit, shit shit.** Missy slumps on the bed next to him, sighs. "Which is all super-easy, of course. It's just a pain to fix. Never get attached to technology. Hm. Why am I telling you that? You're joined at the hip to your TARDIS."

"Where's your TARDIS? You should use your TARDIS."

Perhaps he went in too hard on that. He did. Missy smirks, and he swallows again. She leans against him, rests her head on his shoulder, the top of her stupid updo brushing his neck. His skin prickles. **Sensitive neck + sensitive Doctor = super sensitive Doctorneck.**

"You know I'll never let you know that," Missy says. "You'll take it off me, naughty, naughty."

The Doctor shifts, dislodging her. It sends more shooting pains down his shoulders and back, and he swears under his breath. Missy grumbles, stands in front of him, clearly putting her weight on her left leg. **Missy's still holding out on her weaknesses in front of him, so we know her guard isn't entirely down, both because she and the Doctor have such a tense relationship, and also because they're in a cell.**

"Let me," she says, and grabs his shoulders without permission, pinches at the muscles that are knotted and aching.

Even through two layers - no, three, he's got his hoodie on today too **, originally this fic** **was going to have something to do with Missy wearing his jacket and he'd find that Super Arousing and that's where The Veritable Boxer Rebellion, another fic on here, comes from** \- he feels the sharp ends of her nails, the strength in her fingers. It just makes it worse, and he tenses under her grip.

"Doctor, for once in your innumerable lives, chillax," Missy snaps. "I just don't want you bitching when we make our amazing and daring escape. That is, when the guards change shift." Missy presses her thumb next to his C7 vertebrae, **so like after writing Ménage á Deux (go read and comment yo) I realized I always put stuff about the Doctor’s spine in my writing, and in my original stuff with non-Doctor characters, too. I think it’s something to do with fragility, like when someone leans over with their back to you and you can see all their vertebrae and they’re so exposed, so vulnerable. So letting Missy near his neck is both sexual and a show of vulnerability, and that show of vulnerability is something sexual in itself, and it goes on and on,** and something unknots in his back so hard it practically pops. "Better?"

Yes. He groans, lets his head drop so it's nearly brushing her hip. **The Intimacy of it All. Men kneeling in front of their partners with their heads bowed is up there with forehead touches for me. I’m basically Charles Boyle.** If Bill - if any of his friends were here, he'd never let Missy get away with this. Missy presses her thumbs at the juncture of his neck and right shoulder, just on the edge of his t-shirt. **She’s pressing on the fabric to show she respects his boundaries.** It hurts, until something shifts in the muscle, and his blood seems to run warm beneath her fingers. **~blurring~ the lines between intimacy and violence, all that blood of her victims on her hands, his running hot under her fingers.**

"Don't stop," says the Doctor. **This….is actually from…..Pirates of the Carribean: Curse of the Black Pearl, like I hear Keira Knightley’s slightly desperate, breathless, very aroused tone in my head when I read this line. When she and Orlando Bloom are in the bottom of the ship at a table and he’s bandaging her hand and then they smooch. Never let it be said I don’t reference the highest of art in my work.**

She does, stepping back, hands on hips. "I'm your friend too," Missy says, reproachful. **Ding, setting up the psychic element.**

"Yes, you are," says the Doctor, because who knows how long they're going to be here, and that's a philosophical debate for another time. **I have to actively stop myself from letting porn fics turn into those debate fics, because better writers than me can mix the discussion and porn, I just can’t. There’s a lot of heavy editing and balancing involved.**

Missy makes a little tutting noise, presses the heels of her hands into his shoulders. Rubs them in small circles. **Drink whenever I use the phrase ‘small circles’ in a story.** It's oddly soothing. Comforting.

"This would be easier if you sat on the floor," she says. "With your back to me."

The Doctor lowers his head again. "I'm not turning my back on you," he says, and hisses again.

"There's a metaphor in there somewhere," Missy says, kneading away like a pleased cat in a sunbeam. **Drink whenever someone likens Missy to a cat.**

He lets his eyes close. Flinches when Missy puts her fingertips on his neck, like sunspots against his skin. **This comes back, and I was very proud of the description, like when you look into the sun and close your eyes, that’s what he’s seeing and feeling, the heat and the light and the redness.**

"Ah, of course," she says, annoyed, taking a theatrical step back. "Touchy McToucherson."

He glares. "It's not just you, it's everyone. I'm not touchy this time around. And partially, it is you. It's my neck, Missy, we're Time Lords. You know how all that works personally." **And she uses it to her advantage.**

"Hm. So, no touching. Unless you've got a buggered shoulder."

"You know what I mean." Then, because he wants to win some points back. **He goes for points later on in the bedroom too; I like that this first scene and the last scene sort of reflect each other with the chained-up-bit as a sort of centerpiece.** "You know me better than most people."

"I'm not people." **Someone bawled me out the other day for using “the other beings” instead of “Time Lords/people” to refer to Missy and the Master being in the same room, but to me, like, Time Lords aren’t people, because humans are people, people are humans. The Doctor and other seasoned travelers probably use ‘people’ or an equivalent to talk about consciousness-having alive beings generally. Missy however, is a Time Lady at heart, and she’s not people. She’s nothing like a human, she likes to think.**

Missy sighs, backs up, limping. Sits in her earlier spot on the floor, curling up with her elbows on her knees, facing him. He can see halfway up her shins, the buttons and loops on her boots disappearing under the mud-splattered hem of her petticoat, which is covered over by her heavier skirt. **She’s covered in layers and all covered up and the skirt is heavy and her boots have buttons, like she’s restricted into her clothes, and that’s arousing for him. It intrigues him.**

"As much as I love sitting here in silence," the Doctor begins, then runs out of steam. Chooses to study Missy's pose instead, slowly working out the kinks in his shoulders. He should draw her, one day. **This is meant to be like, oh, they don’t get any time to just chill together, in this iteration of them. They’re always fighting or running around. He likes his introspective time, Twelve does.**

Eventually Missy looks up at him, still frowning. "Penny for them," she says.

"How are we going to get out?" The Doctor looks around the cell. There's just one small door, barely big enough for Missy to crawl through, let alone him. It's probably better that he was unconscious for entry. The door's made of thick, black metal, reinforced with heavy bolts. "You have a plan, I assume."

Missy pulls a pin out of her hair. Holds it up. "This one's got acid in it, when you remove the tips. Wait, no. My mistake."

"Mistake two." **Mistake one, mistake two, mistake three was originally going to be like a running gag, but it isn’t so much running as….appearing…twice? I think the “they escape” repetition ended up being enough.**

Missy pulls another pin out, from the same spot. A lock of hair falls across her face, and she brushes it out of the way. "This one's acidic. This one's incendiary. We'll just use the acid to get the door open, should be able to sneak away." **You know Missy’s fucked that up at other times and she’s tried to use the acid one instead of the exploding one and it’s really backfired on her, for a poor metaphor.**

The Doctor raises his eyebrows, impressed.

"It's not just a look," says Missy, gesturing at herself. "It's all got utility." **In some ways this is how I justify all the Master’s outfits to myself. I think that the Time Lord’s big collars are traditional because a) sensitive necks but b) Gallifrey is hella sunny what with the two suns and all, so I figured, hey. What if, before Rassilon, before all the culture of Gallifrey got all Citadel-ed and stifled, if when they were outside, to stop their skin getting sunburnt, they had like, really high collars so they could drape fabric over the top and protect their necks and heads, or just have the high collar and wear the cap on top to protect their scalps. And they wear hella caps, too. Once they all settled and Rassilon came along, the collars became a Traditional Cultural thing and settled into the formalwear of the Time Lords. This is actually consistent over all the fics I’ve written with a reference to Old Gallifrey, like in Nazi-Occupied France Theta’s daughter Peya wears a cap, and Koschei’s dress military uniform’s hood goes all the way up and over their collar and over their head.**

**What a diversion, we’re never going to get to the porn. My point is, function, then form, then combine the two to get fashion.**

It's his turn to smirk, raise his eyebrows. "It's a bit about the look."

"Yeah, it is." **Hashtag The Look.**

The Doctor points at her brooch **, and I left it at that, congratulate me, it also just reminds us of how old their relationship is**. "I know that's dwarf star alloy. Are your buttons incendiary, or something?"

"No, they're just buttons. That's utility," says Missy. "And I set my jacket on fire once, when I tried that. Great minds."

"Not sure if that's a great minds example," the Doctor says, and they both laugh. The pain in his shoulders is lessening, and he stands, stretches. "Better," he says, in answer to Missy's look. He sits again, rests his hands on his thighs. "You can sit on this, if you want. The bed. I mean the bed, not me." **I just thought this was cute, the Doctor realizing that something sounds sexual, and being flustered about that.**

Missy snorts. "I'm fine here. Looks more like an outcrop than an actual bunk, if I'm honest."

"So. What exactly was the utility of the Shakespearian collar, way back when," the Doctor says.

"Dangerous ground to tread, celery-cricket-outfit-boy," says Missy.

"The celery was there so I could - "

"Praxis-spectrum gases, I remember, you're allergic," Missy stretches, her legs going out straight. She grits her teeth. "That time we had that excursion to the sun of the Zurchansan System and you got hives. Regardless. I liked the collar. Protected my neck, smarty-pants. I'm surprised you're not wearing a turtleneck this time round, if you're so sensitive." **12 in a turtleneck 2k17. Also again, “we’ve known each other for ever, we’re friends, we’re enemies, we’re family, we have crazy sex.”**

The Doctor rubs his neck, tilts it. Something cracks, and he feels a little better.

"The gloves were an aesthetic choice first, but I seemed to end up on such cold planets, most of the time. Utility," Missy holds her hands out in front of her face, palms towards him. "I should resurrect the gloves." **I was legit writing by the seat of my pants here, and then when I wrote this I was like, YES! THE GLOVES! THE GLOVES!**

The Doctor swallows again. His throat clicks, suddenly dry. Missy grins impishly, tucks that loose lock of hair behind her ear. **I always do that lock of hair thing with Missy – it’s because she’s (and her previous incarnations) are so buttoned up, corseted in, that the minute she loosens her collar or lets a bit of her hair down, gets messy in a not-covered-in-blood-way, the Doctor is like, Hello. How Are You.**

"You did like the gloves," she says, casually. "Fond memories of you and the gloves." **They Did Some Crazy Sex Stuff With the Gloves. And I was going to go into more detail on that, but as I’ve said before, somewhere else, sometimes it is best to let people imagine their own events regarding the Gloves. Gets their own kink going in their head, gets ‘em all warmed up for the next few scenes.**

Perhaps if he doesn't say anything, Missy will drop it. She rubs her fingers together, peers at him carefully.

"Are you bored? I'm bored."

"I'm waiting for the guards to change shift," he says. "Which was your idea."

"You got a better one, my Lord Doctor?" Missy asks. **I’m reluctant to have them call each other Koschei and Theta, because they’ve never ever ever (and probably will never) do that in canon, and I just feel it’s far too intimate for them to just…spout out. But Lord Doctor, feels fun, and is a callback to their pasts, without it being painful.**

"…no." **Can you just see Twelve’s expression here.**

Missy crosses her legs at the ankle again. Her heels have that Edwardian curve. Her attention to detail has gotten better - or at least, it is on her immediate person. **This is an oblique reference to Martha and the gun in four parts thing. But it’s also about the Doctor studying Missy, feet away from him across the cell.**

"You liked the gloves," says Missy, fiddling with one of her rings. "I liked the gloves. I wish I had them right now, it's chilly in here."

"You can have my jacket," says the Doctor, unthinking. He's still not used to having a Time Lady around. **As I said earlier, this came back in the Veritable Boxer Rebellion (another fic) and this is definitely where the seed got planted; I wanted to write that one more than this, and I sort of thought about combining the two ideas, but then there’d be too much going on. Also, the Doctor is Lonely.** "I mean - "

Missy gives him a look. "No, thanks, I'm not an animal." **In Gallifreyan culture, I figure sharing clothes is like a Super Improper, Intimate thing, while with humans, sometimes it’s a intimacy thing, other times it’s “you’re cold, here’s my coat.”** She pulls up her sleeve, presses a stud on one of her bracelets. "It's coil-heated," she says, tugging at the lapels of her coat.

The Doctor zips up his hoodie, folds his arms across his chest defensively. 

"Mine's got a zip."

"Snazzy." **I love this bit of banter.**

"Don't give me attitude, Missy, I don't want to be here either."

They sit in silence for a moment. Missy pops her lips.

"Those gloves - " she begins, and the Doctor holds up a hand. **So yeah, porn was gonna start here, and then I realized it just wasn’t going to do.**

"I know what you're going to try and do, and can you please hold off until we're not imprisoned by the lamest aliens since the Froodles cross-bred with the Nyumanums." [ **Me, typing]: I need the dumbest cutesy alien species names I can think of.**

Missy snorts. Crosses her arms too, drops her head to her chest. "Wake me in ten. Shift change is in twelve minutes."

"How long was I out?" the Doctor asks.

"Long enough for three shift changes," says Missy, sniffing. She lowers her head again. Scratches her mouth. **This is one of those very human-personalising things, where Missy is being – genuine, around him, scratching, being uncomfortable, going to sleep, something we never see fully in the show. There’s her performance of intimacy (“What the hell you up to, man?)” and her defense of their friendship against Clara but there’s little casual stuff. I know there was some originally in the script but it was cut.**

"Did you hurt your ankle?"

"Mhm."

"How?"

"You weren't the only one dragged in here," Missy says, her head still lowered. Her hair falls across her face again, and the Doctor wants to tuck it back. Leaves it. **Ah, the Want begins anew.** Without moving, she mumbles, "Eight minutes."

"Got you."

 

They escape. **Use of escape, one. Tick.**

 

*** * ***

 

 

He's chained up the next time he sees Missy. [ **Me, typing]: I need a weirdly porny setup to the next part. Ah.** She was summoned to this planet too, some kind of hunting trip organised by the disgustingly rich who find normal forms of entertainment now dull, and have resorted to hunting sentient, intelligent beings. The Doctor is taken to a cell to be the latest quarry for a group of gangsters from Vonvicinini, an appallingly wealthy planet with a solid gold core where - as Missy reminds him, the skies are made, in part, of diamonds. **Reference to Utopia, of course, and also of Missy’s nature of being a psycho murdering monster.** Very small diamonds, buffeted about by the winds of the atmosphere. Diamonds all the same.

Missy is chained to the ceiling by her wrists, arms straight up in the air. They put the Doctor in a similar setup next to her, lock and seal the door. Leave them alone.

For once, the Doctor is glad to see the Mistress, thinking of her technology-loaded clothing and hairpieces. Her lack of patience, forgiveness, mercy. **The Mistress edges the Doctor towards his dark side, and this is one of those times where he’s kind of happy to see the bad dudes suffer.**

Missy doesn't mind hunting, he knows that. **Grammar and sentence structure are for the weak.** Usually.

"It's just so pedestrian," she says, hanging from the roof of the cell by her wrists, the chain clinking. "You know, and it's such a human concept. Ooh, hunting other intelligent - for a given value of intelligent a **gain, Missy sets herself (and the Doctor/Time Lords) apart from the rest of the universe** \- life forms. I'm so hardcore. I'm scary and wealthy to the point of obscenity." She blows a raspberry. "Grow up. **This is a compare and contrast joke, obviously. Blowing a raspberry is immature, and then she says to grow up. Is this necessary? I’m leaving this annotation here.** Buy a planet and rule it to your own ridiculous whims, or something. Recreating the Most Dangerous Game, it's just cheap."

Ignoring her, the Doctor tries to get his feet flat on the ground, finally finds purchase. Waits for her to finish.

"I wrote the book on The Most Dangerous Game. Ricky Connell, I actually gave him a hand with that story." **I legit could not think of a title, so I’m glad I put this in here.**

"I'm sure you did," the Doctor mutters.

"And there's the Most Dangerous Game theme park, you know. On Sharerein X. They use condemned prisoners for quarry so it's all morally okay. Ish." **[sofia vergara voice]: HUNGER GAAAAAMES. But yeah, it’s a big wide universe with some fucked up stuff in it.** Missy makes a humming noise. "Good times and there's a great buffet. **I think in a lot of fiction, buffets are presented as kind of crass and American (idk why I think this), so the idea of ‘hunting trip where you get to kill intelligent beings’ + good buffet, is amusing.** Where's the one with all the teeth?" she asks. **Was gonna say hair, felt that could get a bit iffy, so I didn’t.**

"Bill stayed on the TARDIS. Slept in," says the Doctor. "And now she's staying there. I got that message across before they smashed my phone, at least. She can't help us."

"And where is the TARDIS?"

"You know that lake at the bottom of the mountain they told us about?"

Missy swears as her foot slips, and she dangles for a moment. Manages to find a small tiptoe-hold on the roughly-hewn stone floor. **The Doctor, and I will also write this one day, likes that the Master/Mistress is smaller than him. Also, looking back at this fic, I think Twelve has a bit of a thing for Missy’s boots.**

"Yes," she says, unamused.

"It's on top of that mountain." **He’s such a dag. I love him. Don’t go.** The Doctor glances up, sees his wrists are already getting marked by the handcuffs. "Where is your TARDIS?"

Missy shakes her head and sticks her tongue out at him, **real mature Missy**. "No dice." **They’re not in that much danger.**

"Can't they just let us go now?"

"We'd get too much of the day to move easily," Missy says. "It'll be dusk in about three hours. Then they'll let us go, then we get three hours, then the hunt begins. Do the Vonvicininia know what happens when we die? At least it'll be a nasty surprise for them if we don't get away."

"Or a fantastic gift. But no, I don't think they know what they've got, if I'm honest," says the Doctor absently, studying her hands, twisted above her head. **Again, admiring those small details.** "You resurrected those just in time, it seems."

"It seems I did," Missy says.

She's wearing a pair of fitted leather gloves. Black, to match her boots. **Steven Moffat owes me ten million dollars because Missy’s wearing gloves in series 10.** Who knows how far they go up her arms. He doesn't let himself imagine. Missy curls and uncurls her fingers as he watches. He imagines. **Those last three sentences are some of my favourites that I’ve ever written. I feel like they really pack – a lot of baggage in there. I don’t know. And it’s kind of funny.**

"You always pick being short," says the Doctor absently. **The Mistress/Master is always dominant and they’re smaller than him, so he could so easily physically dominate them and yeah I need to write that fic.**

"You always pick being shut up," Missy mutters. Grips the chain, tries to lift herself up to her own hands, so she can grab a pin out of her hair. She sighs. "Useless."

"You have a plan?"

"Do you have a plan?"

The Doctor yanks on his own chain. "Can your boot buttons do anything? That's all I can really reach of you." **The Doctor….really likes Missy’s boots in this one.**

"Yes."

"Yes? What do your boot buttons do?"

"They keep my shoes on. **You should always be able to run in your shoes. If you can’t run, they’re bad shoes. This goes for heels too.** Where's your screwdriver?"

"In my black coat."

"And that's another problem," says Missy, gesturing at him as best she can, ends up sort of hopping and kicking at him. "You're wearing bright red velvet. It's a jungle out there. You're going to have to cover yourself in mud."

"Says the woman wearing purple and high heels."

"It's a purple jungle. Haven't you figured out where we are?"

"Jepada?" says the Doctor.

"Pajadae," Missy snaps. "Next door. Literally, purple-haired forest, in the local jargon." **Time Lords and Ladies of the universe.**

For lack of better options, the Doctor starts yanking at his chain. **This is a “you yanking my chain?” kind of half-baked reference.**

"If you go at right angles to where you're standing now, it looks like one of the screw threads has already snapped," Missy says thoughtfully, standing on tiptoe and frowning up at the ceiling.

He pulls.

"Bit more to the right. The right."

"What, my right or your right?"

"My right, of course." **MY RIGHT, like Missy can’t see anyone else’s point of view. That was deliberate, and I felt very smart putting that in there.**

 

They escape. **This line’s use for the second time, ding.**

 

*** * ***

 

The Doctor drops Bill back at university, goes inside the console room. Missy leans against the railing, rubbing one of her wrists absently.

"You haven't told Bill what I am," she says, pulling the glove off, finger by finger. **Sexy.** **Also, she says “What,” not “who,” which tries to sort of dig in at how the Mistress conceptualizes herself in human’s eyes.** "She thinks I'm just a friend of yours."

The Doctor stands next to her, casual, carefully over an arm's length away, leans against the railing. **I like this sentence. Nothing of relevance to add, but please appreciate it. Also imagine Twelve holding Missy back by her forehead because his arms are longer than hers, cartoon style.**

"You are a friend of mine," the Doctor says, watching her take her gloves off. She tucks them into her pocket. "One of my oldest friends."

"Friends," says Missy, and saunters out of the room, leaving the Doctor with damp palms.

He makes himself stop staring at her arse, **that little staring bit was a super late addition, but I like it because it’s sort of a quick dip into how dirty the language is about to turn, and shows the Doctor isn’t just about aesthetics this time,** turns to the console and flips it to random, filters out any and all warzones, anywhere with an unstable government. No need to lead Missy into temptation. He needs a shower. He needs a shower, and a nap, and wonders if the TARDIS still has that room with the bed in the shower, so he can snooze and bathe and get all that out of the way before he misses dinner on Cannerand. **I’m patenting the shower-bed idea by the way.**

Missy's in his room, cross-legged on his bed.

"Oh," the Doctor says, and laughs. "We're not doing this now." **I like how it’s not even a question. They both know where this has been going this time.**

Missy falls back on one elbow, studies him, eyebrows raised. She's wearing the gloves. He feels himself faltering. Points, his wrist sort of limp. **You know exactly how.**

"Out," he says, and Missy tuts, rolls off the bed and stands. He sits down heavily **people always sit heavily on things in my stories. He’s tired, and trying to show he’s the Boss,** on the mattress, kicks his boots off. **I hate shoes on the bed.** "Out, Missy."

"Do you still have that room with all the waterproof furniture and the shower function?" Missy asks. **Again, old friends, known each other for ages.**

"I wish I knew. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

The Doctor flops over, closes his eyes pointedly. Hears footsteps, the door closing. Something light and leathery hits him in the face. He splutters, bats it away, gets back up.

Missy leans against the closed door. **I can’t believe he fell for that.** She has one glove on. As he watches, she crosses her legs at the ankle. **I can’t believe I accidentally gave the Twelfth Doctor an ankle/boot fetish.**

"I love those gloves," she says smoothly, and the Doctor wishes she would stop talking. He sits up, stares her down. Mistake one. She's all smirking red lips and quirked eyebrows and blue, blue eyes. **When someone is “all [adjective] [noun] and [adjective] [noun]” in a fic, you know someone’s gonna have sex.** "They take me back, you know."

He flings the glove she threw back at her. Mistake two. She catches it deftly, slips it on. **OH DAMN HOT _MAMA_** **.** The Doctor swallows.

"I really don't like being touched this time, Missy," he says, **wow a shocking revelation no one saw coming and a boundary Missy totally respects**.

Missy saunters across the room, sits in the chair opposite the bed. "Lie back, my dear Doctor." **That’s meant to be like Yes This is Classic Who Master, she’s gonna be Bringing That Back.**

He's not going to get out of this. The Doctor sighs, sits back against the headboard.

"This isn't going to work," he says. Finds himself rubbing the marks from the handcuffs on his wrists. "No matter what you do - "

"Remember that time on Hanchler where we all ended up running from those rabid Torionos?" Missy says, propping her boots up on the bed between his legs, crossing her legs at the ankle. "We ended up waiting the night out in that cabin, and it was so cold, we just had to find some way to keep warm."

He remembers everything. Stares at the little curved heels of her shoes, the way the buttons go up and up and up her legs, under her skirt. **I gave him a boot fetish I’m fucking crying how did I not notice this.**

"Actually, there was no firewood and neither of us was game to go into the forest and get some." **They had a two hour argument about it. And this is meant to have like an, old married couple/old old friends sort of aesthetic to it.**

"We ended up in bed, talking for hours," says Missy. "And then that got boring, or we starting fighting, so then we started kissing - "

The Doctor rolls his eyes.

"The kissing, and the touching," Missy circles her hands as she talks. "The heavy petting, whatever the kids these days call it. And," she sighs prettily, girlishly. "We made love as the candles burnt low. Or, rather, I fucked you into the mattress until you came apart in my hands." **“Fucked into the mattress” is like one of those Classic Fanfic Phrases and I adore it.**

The Doctor makes a low noise as Missy sighs. She rubs her gloved hands along her skirt.

"I miss being able to do that," said Missy, tipping her head from side to side. "I liked having you kneeling before me, under me." She bites the thumb of her right glove, pulls it off with her mouth. She holds it in her left hand, traces the fingers along her cheek. **Dem cheekbones doe.** Leans forward slightly. "I liked seeing your mouth around my cock."

It's been too long, since River, though it wouldn't matter if River had been five minutes ago. This is Missy playing him like a piano. **Sometimes I catch myself making Missy veer to close to River (which is a Moffat _thing_** **to discuss elsewhere) so I was trying to differentiate this here.** He's half-hard already. The Doctor lets his head drop. Hopes Missy won't notice.

She chuckles - she's still got that low chuckle, down in her chest, she's had that since her first body and will probably keep it till the end of her days, and that doesn't help. **Classic Master bringing out the Classic Kinks.** Missy sprawls in her chair slightly, pressing her legs together. **This is actually kind of a mistake because you can’t really sprawl and press your legs together, like try it. You can’t, don’t argue. But I was trying to get across that Missy is very much in charge but also very much turned on.**

"I mean, do you remember? I'd spread you out and open you up and take hours - you'd beg, and mewl, and then remember your companions were just a few halls away and try and make yourself keep quiet." **They did seem to have a more friendly relationship very early on in the classic series, so this was trying to call back to that.** Missy keeps tracing the line of her cheekbones with her glove. "And of course, I'd take that as a challenge. But you just liked it more. Oh, Doctor, you're making this far too easy. You be a good boy now, and keep quiet and still."

Missy chuckles again, and he's Pavlov's dog, he really is. He keeps quiet and still. **So dogs sit and stay. Well, not my dogs, but you know what I was going for.**

"Hold onto the headboard. However's comfortable for you," she adds. "I don't want you to feel awkward."

The Doctor resists, for ten seconds, all the while Missy leans forward and smiles at him, attentive rather than affectionate. **Attentive rather than affectionate, always liked this one.** This is the difference, here, between her and River and Rose and Reinette and Rory and Amy (he needs to look up whether names beginning with R are a fetish **no Doctor apparently your fetish is boots this time** ). Between the Mistress and the rest. Everyone has teeth. The Master uses them.

Metaphorically speaking. The Mistress loves him and tells him that - in the next breath, she could break him like a twig and not feel a twinge of guilt. **Could do a philosophical discussion breakdown conversation of this here, chose not to, put it in the sex instead. The sex is meant to explore – those boundaries they have, and choose for each other in these intimate moments, where no one else is watching, except you, you perverts. I try for what I call “appalling intimacy” where you feel a little perverted (it’s more in Nazi-Occupied France, and Menage a Deux, screw the accents), little bit like you’re peeking in on something you might not be meant to see. Not sex _necessarily_** **, but in those cases, a private act that happens to be sex.**

The Doctor puts his hands on the headboard, stretching his arms out lengthways **as opposed to what headways? Why did I put that there**?

"I miss it, of course," she says slowly, dark. "Having a cock. At the end of the day, they're sort of just easier, aren't they?" **I did get a bit….thingy about this prompt, because I feel there is a divide between (mostly) Classic Doctor/Master shippers and Revival D/M shippers, and while sometimes the latter gets a bit heteronormative/gendernormative with Missy and Twelve, the former was in some cases….hetero-repulsed. Is that a word? Like, the idea that M/M relationships are superior to all the others, has been around in fandom a long time, and so it was a bit of that peeking through a small contingent of D/M fans, classic and revival, but I saw it more on Classic Who forums.**

**So, the dick thing. I was a bit….thingy about having Missy talk about missing one when she has presumably a fabulous set of working genitals anyway. But dicks are sort of easier to maneuver than vaginas, and people w/ dicks can pee standing up with more ease than people w/o them. So, I was going to put something in about peeing standing up but that hewed too close to watersports for me (which I am Not A Fan Of) so I veered off there and just kept it casual, and then wrote this mini-essay.**

He laughs at that, his shoulders moving up and down.

"I miss being able to fuck you," and she does sound rueful. "I mean, there's the fake ones and they make good fakes, that plug into synapses and nerve centres but it's just not the same. **I mean, alien tech can do anything.** I remember, I remember, you, skinny man, all pinstripes and far too much hairgel. When I had you in that quarry. You just rolled over and let me take you, like you were looking for forgiveness. And I took you, remember? **“I took you,” very ownership, very possessive.** It was close enough to gentle for you to think - perhaps there was a chance for you, for me. For us. You kissed me and held me, **ah that Classic Tenth Doctor intimacy** and took my cock in your mouth, even though I was so dirty. But your mouth back then, my God, you talked so much. I loved seeing your fast lips and quick tongue on my cock. Made you shut up while you sucked at me, and you loved it." **I like how everyone took it as canon that the Doc and the Master at least made out in the quarry in the End of Time and probably banged. Here it was sort of desperate fumbling and the Doctor would Not want to put his genitals in the Master’s mouth (considering he’d literally eaten some people that day) and Ten was always very needy. And it’s still about the Master and control, because he made Ten shut up. So. Anyway.**

The Doctor remembers. He's properly hard now, and his mouth is dry.

"I wanted to make you choke on it," she says. **Simm’s Master was very cruel, remember.** Breathes out, switches the way her legs are crossed, left-on-right to right-on-left. **She’s turned on AF, as the kids say. As Frasier.** "If I had the strength, the concentration." Missy looks at the ceiling. "I regret not taking my chance, but we always get another chance. **That whole cycle thing of the Doctor and the Master, always so close to being friends, being enemies.** And then you left me to die. Abandoned me." Her voice goes hard. "So much for forgiveness, Doctor, Doctor, my Doctor."

"I didn't mean to leave you," he says, voice rasping. "I was dying too."

Missy takes a long, steady, cool look at him. "I spied on you," she says, her voice suddenly warm again, that full girlish lilt she had way back when in the centre of London. **I actually only just remembered the Woman in the Shop thing so this wouldn’t actually be news to the Doctor.** "I watched you, Doctor, all floppy hair and that stupid, stupid bow tie. I wanted to strangle you with it." She grins. "I see you like that. Tell me you like it." **Oh damn.**

The Doctor swallows. "I do like it."

"I'm sorry? What do you like?"

"I do like it, Mistress. When you strangle me with my bow tie." He goes for points. "With my stupid bow tie." **I think this is when Sos (who helped edit this) commented something like “holy shit.”**

He's rewarded with a smile. Missy bites her thumb again, lips red around the black leather **he’s still all about those little tiny details**. The Doctor shifts, his cock pressing against his zipper, trying to alleviate the pressure. His hands twist on the wood of the headboard. The bulge in his pants is getting humiliating.

"No touching," says Missy. "I imagined - one night, when these little fingers went a-wandering," she waves her hand at him, the one in the leather glove, and the Doctor shifts again, though he's just seeking a sensation now. **That is another fic I wanna write. About Missy, not the Doctor.** "I imagined. Grabbing you off the street. Shoving you up against a wall in my TARDIS and pulling those damn braces down, I mean, what were you thinking?"

He laughs. Moves his hips, his cock rubbing against his zipper through his pants. It'll be raw if he keeps this up, but it's something, something. He's making tiny noises as he does it, can't help himself.

"I want your hands - " the Doctor hears himself saying, **he’s already losing it,** and Missy uses her gloved fingers, bats at one of his feet playfully. "Missy - "

She pokes her tongue out at him, bites it gently, pink against her red lips and white teeth **, little little intimate bright details**.

"I'll bite you," the Doctor says. **Oh damn I should have made Missy like snap her teeth at him here, because damn. Imagine Missy sort of fake biting at him. That’ll be in the next gratuitous pornographic thing I write; these really are a great way for me to blow off steam for uni, because I often write fics about 300-400w at a time, and then leave them for the day. It’s a little brain-recess thing.**

"Don't move your hands," says Missy, and he doesn't. "Now, where was I? Stupid bow tie, stupid braces. I wanted to pull those off you, take those pants off - your pants are always so tight, Doctor, it's like you want me to do this to you. Yank those pants down around your knees and take you right there on my console until you were screaming my name, crying - he looked like a crier, that one. I must ask River - uh-uh, shh, shhh - " she says, waggling her finger at him when he tries to protest **I just don’t know how to deal with River and Missy sometimes**. "Not now, not now. **That was me telling myself to get over it.** I wanted to fuck you, see if you still acted like a manchild with me buried inside you, my fist wrapped around your dick. **I just felt like I’d said ‘cock’ too many times.** Perhaps I'd wear the gloves for you. A reunion, for old time's sake."

She pauses, watches him, hands on knees. "Or you know. The traditional. Make you kneel. Make you suck me off, those pink lips around my cock, those eyes looking up at me. Asking for more, or for mercy, Master, I can never tell." Missy pops her lips. "Sometimes, it's the same thing with you." **This was another Sos saying “oh hell yeah” moment.**

He lets out a breath. Keeps moving his hips in tiny circles **close enough to small circles, drink** , his pants and trousers rubbing on his cock. He's gasping a tiny bit, his shoulders aching from the position.

**Originally most of Missy’s dialogue was one big monologue, which I sort of hammered out, and it just had the Doctor interjecting with pleas, but then I went back and thought about the physical aspect of having to hold that one position for a long time. So sometimes if the “Doctor in pain, dick hurts in his pants,” sections get a bit repetitive, it’s because I added them all in at the same time.**

"I'll tie you there, don't even think about it," snaps Missy.

"Please, Mistress - "

"Oh, bringing out the big guns, are we? How about I be your Master today," she says, and the Doctor groans, drops his head so his skull clunks against the headboard. **This was definitely a Sos saying Oh DAMN moment. I was SO PROUD of “your Master” line.** Tries to block her out, focuses on the ceiling. "That's my good boy. I'd use your hair, back then, you had such an odd fringe. Good handhold. I wouldn't let you move, I'd just use your mouth, and you'd love it. Me, your Master, the one you thought dead and burnt and buried, fucking your face. Coming down the back of your throat - "

"Fuck," says the Doctor, shuddering.

Missy grins. "I like that. It's the Scottish in you, I think."

"Bet you want some of this Scottish in you," the Doctor manages to counter, and Missy laughs again. **~friendship older than your civilization and infinitely more complex~** It's more of a giggle, and he thinks he's gained the upper hand until -

"Not as much as you want this Scottish in you." She copies his accent, and he feels his dick twitching.

Missy takes a moment, rubs his lower leg through his pants, the leather darker than his black jeans. Still. The Doctor sucks in a breath.

"I watched you - getting snogged by that redhead, by your wife - " she makes wife sound like a swearword, and not a good, fun one - "by the husband of the redhead, thought I'd be able to do a much better - "

"How would you fuck me now?" the Doctor asks, feels himself sweating. "If you had a cock?"

"Oh, like this," she says, casual, like she hasn't wiled away hours thinking about it. "Spread out and ready to beg - "

"I am not ready to beg - " **He’s so ready to beg.**

"In this instance, you'd have handcuffs. It'd be a whole thing." Missy waves her gloved hand dismissively. "Perhaps I'd slap you around with this a bit, you always liked that, oh yes - " **I like that line, with the slapping, it’s so casually cruel and dismissive. Very Mistress, very Master.**

His treacherous cock twitches again. **I feel like “treacherous cock” is another real Fanfiction Classic Phrase.** It's embarrassing, how obvious it is, tenting the front of his trousers, his open legs like an arrow pointing towards it. The Doctor tightens his grip on the headboard until his knuckles creak.

"I'd slap you around. I like it too. The face, your cock, your arse. **Idk why she says “the” and then “your” but I fiddled with it and I like it that way. Probably something to do with regenerations.** Shove you down on the bed, and you'd be saying, no, Missy, no - "

"Master - "

Missy grins.

"You like that, Doctor? All the while spreading your legs for me, just as you are now, wanton little - "

The Doctor's moving his hips again, tiny circles. **Drink.** Occasionally his zipper catches on his cock and it makes him wince. Doesn't make him stop. **As we get closer to climax, the sentences here get a bit more fragmented, both Missy’s speaking, drops, drops definite, indefinite articles, more commas because, she’s not thinking straight, neither is. He.**

"And, Doctor, I would go slow," says Missy. "Use this hand, of course, one finger, teasing you, for hours. You act all-so-above-it-all, above those base needs, but I'd have you begging. If it took ten minutes. An hour. Two. Ten - "

The Doctor feels precome dripping down his shaft, gasps.

"Then a second finger," says Missy plainly, tipping her head as if she's recounting the plot of some base sitcom that aired last night. "Keep working you open, making your legs twitch and your thighs shake. See if I could make you come like that, just on my hand. But that's kind of boring. A third finger."

His hips jerk upwards. Of course she notices.

"You'd be doing that, asking," says Missy, pointing. "I'd be three fingers in and you'd be twisting on my hand, begging for more, loving how the leather felt inside you. You miss your Master, don't you, the Doctor misses his Master - "

His hips jerk again, almost a spasm. "Fuck - " the Doctor chokes out.

"Perhaps you'd come like that," says Missy, still using her sitcom-recounting voice. "Three fingers, a bit of leather. Maybe my other hand around your cock, nice and tight, you bucking up, asking for my - no, no. Begging for my cock. Would I give it to you? Would I? I could just milk you dry like that, listen to you crying for me - "

"Missy, Master, please," the Doctor says. **I think that whole passage stands on its own. I still don’t like the phrase sitcom-recounting voice, but the only alternative I could think of was sing-song, and that’s a boner killer.**

Missy lets out a long breath and he realises - he's an idiot. She's just as turned on as he is. **No fuckin shit Sherlock.** Missy uncrosses and recrosses her legs once again, smirks. The Doctor's arms shake from the effort of holding the headboard.

"Perhaps not as much as you," she says, gives his foot a mocking squeeze. She nods. "I'd give it to you. Spread your legs wider, slide in. You'd be all stretched out but you'd still groan, because you know how I like it too. **They’ve known each other a long time.** Bury myself in you. Doctor?"

"Master." **I was going to say this was like, his low voice, desperate, gasping, but I left it without descriptors so people could imagine how he’d say it – quickly, slowly, groaning, breathless. Who knows.**

"And I'd wait for a moment, because I miss that. The sensation." Missy clenches her fist. The leather glove creaks as she does, and the Doctor moans, hundreds of moments from hundreds of years playing on a loop in his head. **Another one of my fave lines, and I think Sos was like, again “Damn.”** "That tight heat. Feeling your pulse from the inside out. **~intimacy~** That little look you always get, your pupils all blown, your mouth just a little bit open - just like that - "

Her pupils are blown too, only a rim of that vivid, vivid blue around the black. **He likes her eyes, her arse, her gloves and her boots. Never let it be said the Doctor’s not cerebral.**

"Remember, Doctor, remember," the Mistress murmurs, and the Doctor remembers and whimpers. "Just a little bit open, and you bite your lip because you don't want to cry out, but I love it when you're noisy and loud and wonderful. **I just like that she likes him being loud.** We both like to pause there, don't we? When I'm inside you? That moment where we're both - "

"Intimate - " the Doctor says, and hopes that's the word she's after.

Missy shifts her head from side to side. Twists her glove between her fingers. **That’s a yes, but she can’t say it. She can bring him to orgasm by talking, but admitting she loves him? Admitting that weakness? Nah. And isn’t that sad.** "I'd get a grip on you - your neck, your hip, the headboard, depends on how I'm feeling, and then I'd slowly pull myself out, and I don't want to - " he's gasping, his balls tight - "I miss that heat, that stutter of your pulse, and that's when I'd grab your neck and feel it in your throat."

"Master, Missy, please - "

Missy looks him right in the eye, keeps speaking, her breathing slightly elevated. "And then I'd push you into the mattress, shove into you. You'd cry out and that just makes me go faster, harder, and you love it when your Master is rough with you, don't you? Tell me, Doctor."

The Doctor finds what's left of his strength. "I do, Master." **[Me, typing]: NICE.** He shuts his eyes, cock aching and leaking in his pants. He twists his hands on the headboard, his arms trembling.

"Perhaps if I'm feeling merciful, I'll pull you into my lap. You, speared on my cock, gasping, trying to look me in the eye. **[drops everything to go write that fic]** Oh god, you'd be so hot and tight and want me more than anything in the universe," says Missy. "You're not coming before I do," she adds. "Look at me, Doctor." **This is a classic D/M trope, second only to the Master only being able to come once the Doctor calls them Master/Mistress and I legit can’t remember if that comes up in this fic so I’ll have to wait and see.**

His hips jerk upwards, and he hears Missy purr. **Cat! Drink.**

"You're not going to look, are you. I want to see you come undone, all your hair sticking up and your fingers twisting and the way you gasp, now, it's wonderful. Wonderful." She hums again, and it's low and harmonises with the way his body is thrumming, throbbing. "If I was fucking you, right now - "

The Doctor gasps. His arms are numb. His legs twitch, helpless. He can feel precome dripping, down the head of his cock, along his shaft. Missy can smell him by now, and probably loves it. **The idea of her being able to smell his arousal is so animalistic and so un-Time Lord, so I love it. They pretend they’re so above it all.**

**And yeah, she loves it.**

"I'd get you into my lap. I always liked that, you sitting on my cock, riding me as I thrust up into you, the way you grip my shoulders. You kiss me when we're like that, so desperate, all whimpery - " Missy breathes out, slowly. Fans herself. "Staring into my eyes, your weight in my lap, your cock between us. Desperate for me, begging." Another slow breath. "Look at me, Doctor," she intones.

He drops his head. **He’s so weak but so strong.**

"Look at me," she says, her voice like a siren's song. "My dear Doctor - "

"Missy," the Doctor says, forcing his head up, meeting her gaze. "Missy, Missy please - " **He kind of oscillates between Missy and Master because hey! They’re the same person to him! Because they’re the same character! That’s all I’m gonna say!**

She nods. "You can come, Doctor." **I actually didn’t know how to write this next bit correctly, like I felt with so much build-up, it had to be good. I tried.**

There's a moment where they stare at each other, Missy, upright on the chair, the glove twisted between her fingers. The Doctor, sprawled across the mattress, arms at odd angles, breath coming in short gasps.

"Come for me," Missy orders. **Sos: OH DAMN.**

"Fuck - "

The Doctor's arms slip from the headboard. He bucks helplessly and comes in his pants with a shout, untouched. Feels his come dripping down his cock, his balls, hot and slick. He groans, long and low, stars on the edge of his vision. Hears Missy saying something - blacks out for a moment.

The Doctor wakes up in the room alone, flat on his back on the mattress, his mouth dry. Lies there, his legs splayed and stares up at the blank white ceiling for a moment. He catches his breath. Tamps down on the usual regret that comes after these encounters. **These two paras and the following ones, I was never actually happy with, but I knew I’d just keep picking at them forever, so I had to get over it and just move on.**

Then, the Doctor struggles up on his aching arms, which shake the moment he puts weight on them. He shifts awkwardly, grimacing at the damp mess he's made of his trousers. Slumps up against the pillows. It's not just his arms. His legs are shaking, his palms are damp. He licks his dry lips.

The door opens and Missy re-enters, holding a damp cloth. The mattress dips as she sits on it, reaches over and carefully unbuckles his belt, undoes his trousers. **So I feel like, if this scene happened with Saxon-era Simm, Simm wouldn’t clean him up. All the other Masters would clean him up, it’s part of the aftercare. Blonde Simm would probably make a decent effort with like a dirty rag. I feel like that needs to be pointed out.**

"Up," Missy says, and he lifts his hips. Missy tugs his trousers and pants down. It's cold. "Okay?" she asks, and the Doctor nods. **This is meant to show the Doctor as super fragile, wrung out, and I think that does come across.**

She cleans him up carefully, clicking her tongue as she does. The cloth is warm, her hands gentle. He still shivers at her touch. "All too easy. That was relatively vanilla for us, wasn't it?" **[thinks about some of the D/M fanfics I’ve read] oh _yeah_** **.**

He finds the energy to nod, feels his eyelids growing heavy. Lets them close for a moment.

"Look at me," Missy says again, and he pulls himself up against the pillows and headboard, stares at her.

She's all prim and proper, buttoned up to her throat, not a hair out of place. As he watches her, Missy removes her remaining glove without ceremony and puts the pair on his bedside table. The Doctor suddenly feels very exposed, tries to casually pull his pants back up, fingers fumbling. Hides a grimace. Missy does the kind thing and pretends not to notice. She couldn't get him properly clean, but it's much better than it was before. **I like that. It shows there is some give and take in their relationship, at least in these really tight, intimate moments. Also, hey, she didn’t get him to call her Master/Mistress so she could come, because she didn’t, so I’m giving myself half a point. Full disclosure, I love that trope though, so.**

"I've seen you worse," says Missy, standing, stretching. "That one will keep me company on cold winter nights. **References back to the encounter they talked about on Torionos.** Metaphorically speaking." She sits again, pats his face, on the border of affectionate and mocking. "Good boy. Say thank you." Keeps her hand on his cheek, her thumb at the corner of his eye.

"Thank you, Mistress," he says, and she lets him go.

The Doctor takes in a shuddering breath. Raps his knuckles against the headboard, runs his hands through his hair, arms still shaking. Presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathes out again. Lies down properly.

"You want a drink of water?" Missy asks, voice suddenly gentle. **Give-and-take.**

The Doctor nods and feels the mattress shift under him as Missy gets up and leaves the room. She comes back a moment later, lifts his head up, rests a glass on his lower lip.

"I'm shagged out, I'm not an invalid," he says, peeved, and Missy snorts, stroking his cheek. "Thanks." **Again, so now the rough stuff is over, Missy is willing to do the aftercare stuff that the Doctor does need, because this has been quite a consensual, intimate encounter for both of them.**

He sits up and she hands him the glass. Their fingers brush. **So Missy’s touched him, since he came, but the Doctor hasn’t really.** The Doctor drinks carefully, little sips. Missy takes the opportunity to shrug out of her jacket, unbutton her boots. **Damn, and the Doctor missed that. Dude cannot catch a break.** The Doctor puts the empty glass down on the bedside table next to her gloves. The mattress dips again and he looks up as Missy crawls over next to him, smiles and lies down, propped up on the pillows. He settles so he's curled up beside her, his forehead resting against her ribs, below her breast. Missy loops an arm around him, strokes her fingers through his hair. **Hair stroking, for me, is up there with forehead pressing. Twelve’s hair is just, so fluffy.**

"Good boy," she says, and he nods. **That’s a callback to the dog thing.** Missy brushes her lips against his temple. He knows that makes her lie awkwardly, puts her back at an odd angle. "Okay?"

He nods again. Missy shifts, so they're chest to chest and toe to toe, and she presses their foreheads together. **I FORGOT I PUT A FOREHEAD PRESS IN HERE. PRAISE BE TO THE FOREHEAD PRESS. PRAISE _BE_** **.** She slowly moves her hand down from his hair, massages the back of his neck. **So now they’ve been sexually intimate without touching, they’re sort of being….culturally intimate**. **It’s meant to be like a reaffirmation of their species and of their base needs here. I hope that comes across. It also serves as a callback to the start of the fic where though the Doctor is relatively physically able (at the start) to deal with Missy, he doesn’t let her touch his weak spots. Here, he’s bared to her, stripped back (with his clothes on) and raw, and they’re quietly being the Mistress and the Doctor, Time Gentry in exile, Gallifreyans.** Her fingers are warm, soft, sending ripples of pleasure to ancient synapses through his skin. **One of my favourite sentences in this fic.**

"I'll fix your shoulders when we wake up." **Time Lord headcanon: someone you’re close to, falling asleep near you, might send you off to the land of nod too, especially when you’re intimate with them.** She keeps moving her fingers, and it feels like dull, red sunlight behind his eyes **I loved that descriptor, it also calls back to the sunspots at the start**. Comforting. "A proper massage or something, and you can take care of me. If you want to."

The Doctor nods again. "That room with the waterproof furniture."

"Oh, we could have fun in that room."

"I got you. Re-engineer the spray so it comes from the walls too?"

"Doctor, my dear, you're reading my mind."

He chuckles. Missy kisses his forehead softly. **FOREHEAD SMOOCH.**

 

They sleep. **So I kept bringing Sos up through this fic because when I sent this off to her, she was like “OH IT’S SO SWEET SLEEP AS AN ESCAPE!” and I was like, what, and she was like “They escape, they escape, and at the end, sleep is their escape.” And I was like, damn, I didn’t realize that, but goddamn am I clever.**

**But I do like that idea. This is meant to be one of those moments where they’re like, exposed to each other, and you’re meant to feel like you’re looking in on this intimate moment where they’re briefly at peace. All that porn and brutality and language for a few moments of clothed and unspoken intimacy.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ilana for looking this over for me to check it wasn't just a circlejerk starring yours truly. Thanks again to all y'all out there for reading, kudos'ing and commenting on fics, it really does mean a lot, and feedback is always appreciated!


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